For The Women

Thursday night, late, sitting by the light of the Tiki Torch, knitting some beautiful green yarn, thinking about Lauren and her earlier, tearful phone call. She called to tell me her cat has died. Her beautiful boy cat Daisy, with the most wondrous green eyes I've ever seen. Daisy was in the care of Lauren's dad, who has room and time to keep a lazy old cat happy. But being who he is, he could not remember to give the cat one tiny pill, once a week. And the cat grew sicker by the week, until a drunken, laughing voice message informed Lauren that her "goddamn cat" was dead. This is my children's father. He can't manage to even care for a cat, and yet he remains living himself.

There always has been, and always will be, a long list of things we do not get to know.

The park is noisy tonight. Crickets skreek in time to the human sounds. People linger in the closed picnic area long after dark. A young woman walks with her friend, and cries and yells about her terrible husband. Now the whole park knows how terrible he is, and that she has a good job, and that she deserves better. She's right about that. I want to tell her to leave him now. She will do it eventually anyway. Cut your losses darling. Save yourself some pain. But instead, Rick and I walk down to where she's yelling and ask her to please keep her voice down.

There has been a parade of unhappy women here lately. They come to this open, public place, where sound carries for miles, and they open the gates to their pain, flowing molten from someplace deeper than their broken hearts. They remind me of me, back all those years, with a man who could not even care for a cat.

The late night picnic begins to break up. Cars pull away, one by one. We count 18 in all. The crying, yelling woman goes back to her camp, to sleep next to her terrible husband. The crickets are louder now. They're all I can hear. I think of Lauren and her cat, and wish for something wise and helpful to say to her. All I can come up with is, I love you, and, I'm sorry, and, He is who he is. I keep knitting the green yarn by the light of the Tiki Torch, and down by the lake a duck yells something that sounds like HAhahahaha.

Friday morning. The park is quiet for now. Daytime is more quiet, more restful than night here. I knit some more with the green yarn, make notes in my green notebook, and eat avocado toast, made by a man who can care for the whole world. I am surrounded with the color of New Things.


  1. I wanted to let you know I particularly liked this post. Of course the content has some real, but sad notes, I wanted to give you kudos on your natural writing talent that especially shows in this post. You tied it all together very well and I could tell this came freely from you.

  2. So sorry about Daisy, I kept him as a studio cat and he was sweet, well behaved and no problem at all. He walked around the gardens by day and snuggled by the my drying sculptures by night...he will be missed.

  3. Kim , for what it worth; lots of us out here can relate and your daughter's pain is heard. Nothing anyone can do about men who act badly.
    Leaving io always the best way; hard on children always. Blessings.. hope the knitting works.
    Joan T


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